Art is subjective. While some may look at Picasso’s Guernica and see the bombing of the city of the same name, feel the fear and destruction, others may tilt their head and question why both eyes are on one side of the head. Monet’s Water Lilies? It’s just a bunch of dots!!! We can instinctively get that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean. Well, you get the point. We are willing to shrug and say, “it’s not to my taste, but I get why you like it”. Why is it so hard, then to cut ourselves the same slack? My husband thinks I’m beautiful. Fat, thin, in his eyes I’m perfect. I, on the other hand, never think I look beautiful. When, I was younger, smoother, thinner, I wanted to be younger, smoother, thinner. I look at old pictures and wonder why I thought I was fat and ugly I and wish I looked like the person in the photo. As I ponder the foolishness of the younger me, I realize how much I have learned. Absolutely nothing. My body has changed with age. Everything seems to have shifted and I am a beach ball with legs. I don’t look like my younger self. I don’t look my profile picture on Facebook. I feel fat, and old and I hate my hair. And yet, someday, when I am 100, and scooting around town in my Hoveround motorized wheelchair, I will bitch and moan about how good I looked in my 50’s and ask myself why I didn’t take better care of the artwork that is me.
The Art of Design